


A Little Bit of Light

by Yunimori



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Desperation, Drabble, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 04:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21173090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yunimori/pseuds/Yunimori
Summary: Sometimes nightmares are nightmares. Sometimes they are memories. Sometimes they are memories that ARE nightmares, and waking from them brings a relief unlike any other. Shockwave's dreams are never easy, but at least he doesn't wake from them alone, not any more. The hard part is remembering that when he first wakes up.





	A Little Bit of Light

**Author's Note:**

> I'm copying all of my Shockwave and Optimus/Shockwave ficlets and drabbles from my tumblr accounts over to my ao3 account. Most of these are going to be incredibly short (hence the drabble tag), and either in short-form format or 100 Themes Challenge format.
> 
> This is just for my own peace of mind, making sure they are safe from tumblr's random purges.
> 
> However, feel free to read them and let me know if you enjoyed them!

****

_This time. This time they’ll catch me. Take me away from here.  
_

It was a vague thought, shrouded in distance, in distraction. A million calculations and procedures overwhelmed it, buried it back among the shadows as the bot focused on the horror show he was creating. Consciously, he paid it no mind, though his hand shook a little more, his movements became slightly more impatient, unnoticeable by his standards, and he was the only one watching. 

Each time he did this, each time he cobbled together a monstrosity designed to cause sheer destruction, it got a little worse. A little more horrific, a little more blatant…a little more desperate. Each time he stayed close by, watching as his monsters were taken down by the others. Each time he waited until the very end, but always slipped away before he was caught. Before anyone got close enough.

So the cycle repeated itself, unaware desperation driving him to dig the hole a little deeper as he experimented for the sheer sake of seeing what would happen, unable to comprehend that what he was doing was wrong, even as he grew more blatant in his attempts.

_This time will be the last._

Briefly, the thought broke free, floating to his consciousness and making his hand pause in assembling the NecroFallen, forged from the corpse of a broken demigod and thousands of tiny Insecticon bodies and minds, driving the hive into a new creature with an old god’s hateful memories.  
  
He shook it off, returning to work, movements more steady, yet a click faster, a click more reckless.

He never would call himself a prophet, but he was right: it _was_ the last. 

As the battle with his fragmenting abomination ended, he watched, away from the line of fire, but breath coming short and choked, forcing him to run a self-diagnostic that came up empty. When he heard his name being roared like an oath in the confusion, he was slow to react, slow to click the safety off, and the pain that blossomed in his shoulder and traveled to his skull punished him.

Then he punished himself as the carry-on program embedded in the arrow took hold of him, temporarily mending pathways severed millions of years ago, sending a surge of sheer agony through him that had no physical cause. He screamed, static crackling through the speaker he had instead of a mouth, as grief and horror, suppressed and abandoned for so many millenia, overwhelmed him.

Blessedly the pain in his chest a moment later brought mercy with it, sliding him into oblivion even as a tormented wail of “Pax, _forgive me!” _tore his voice to shreds.

Shockwave woke with a start and a cry, anguish choking him as he opened his eyes, the darkness of the room momentarily driving him into mental darkness. For a minute he lay still in bed, unable to breathe, unable to _think_, the quiet of the night closing in on him and leaving him thinking he was trapped once more in the body and mind that felt nothing, a monster in a bot’s skin that he was helpless to stop. 

Tears pricked at his eyes, the ache in his chest expanding into actual pain before he could force himself to draw a breath that felt like knives. Then his ears picked up the soft sound of steady, even breathing beside him, and his skin felt the warmth of another body pressed against his.

Slowly, the despairing flyer turned his head, eyes adjusting to the darkness, to the sliver of moonlight shining through the bedroom window. 

The red and blue bot sleeping next to him made his chest tighten again, but for a different reason. Reality settled around Shockwave in the form of Optimus’s arm, the gentle weight draped over his back a stark reminder that the dream was simply a _dream_ now, the past scars trying to mend themselves. 

Choking off a quiet sob, Shockwave curled himself a little closer to his Endura, a shaking, clumsy hand reaching out to find the sleep-loose fingers of Op’s free hand, pressing his palm against the hollow formed by Op’s until the warmth from the larger bot started seeping into him. Slowly he drew his fingers out of their curled huddle, lacing through his Endura’s quietly, fitting his hand to Op’s like it had always been there. Like they had never been separated. Never endured six million year of estrangement and war until an arrow ended the desperation. 

He studied the vague, shadowed outlines of features so familiar, so loved, and felt some of the tightness in his chest ease, some of the grief draw itself back to the darkness it came from, leaving a painful, desperate love in its place. He was reminded yet again that he was loved despite the horrible flaws he lived with, in body, mind, and past. The reminder was strengthened as Op slowly tightened his hold on Shockwave, drawing him close in his sleep, making his moonlit outline blur as Shockwave moved with him, getting too close to see clearly, resting his cheek against Op’s chest and hearing the steady rhythm of Op’s spark beating in his chest combining with his breaths.

He let his eyes close again, tears quietly sliding down his cheeks as he was comforted by the sleeping sounds coming from his Endura. It was still dark, his chest was still somewhat too tight, the nightmare of memory still too fresh in his mind, but the gentle light of reality was making it fade, carried on the soft breaths of the bot he loved more than his own life.

It _had_ been the last time.


End file.
